Mein Fritz
by Brownpoop
Summary: Biography of Fritz, except it'll have Prussia in it. It's going to be historically accurate, so like...Fritz won't be the nice old grandfather figure everyone's used to. Prussia will also be OOC to reflect the history of Prussia, so...sorry :'D but otherwise, please read and try to enjoy it :'D it might not be everyone's cup of tea but...eh :D
1. Chapter 1

_All personifications playing a part in Hetalia are Himapapa's property C:_

_Just a warning, this story might not be for everyone. My writing style is a lot more distant than others, I've been told, so like. If I ever end up actually writing more for this, I'll soon be enveloped in my own world, if you know what I mean |D _

_And also, some characters may seem OOC. I'm making Fritz as historically accurate as possible based on all the biographies I've read (most of them are British with the rare Australian and German POV) SO he's not going to be the nice grandfather figure a lot of fics have made him out to be, because as nice as it is, I just want to flesh out his story, and how he became the, in a way, cold cynic he was at the end of his life. And Prussia's also going to be OOC, although he'll make references towards his 'true self', and it's also to reflect the historical accuracy I'm TRYING to have in this fic :L aaaaand as one last note I WILL PROBABLY GET A LOT OF THIS WRONG, BECAUSE I CAN'T FLIP THROUGH ALL THE BIOGRAPHIES AGAIN :'D most of this is off of my memory...so...enjoy :'D and thanks for reading~_

* * *

"Fritz! I know you're there! I promise I'm not here to bring you back to your father." The situation was hopeless. Why did the boy have to be as rebellious as he was? The King gave me enough trouble as it was. "Fritz! Forget about your father! At least come out for Wilhelmina! You know she's going to get berated by the King if you don't face him yourself, like a true man." I didn't want to resort to such cowardly tactics, but I was left with no choice. "Think of your sister, Frederick. Imagine the consequences…you never know what your father may do to her." He knew it was an empty threat. But it was enough.

_Ten._

I scanned the area.

_Nine._

Any time now. I turned back towards the castle.

_Eight._

I heard it. The tiniest of rustles.

_Seven._

I turned, ever so slightly. Was he in the birch? Or the larch?

_Six._

No…the larch was too high. Would he seriously climb so high so as to escape the wrath of his father?

_Five._

Of course he wasn't. He was but a sickly, young boy. The opposite of his father.

_Four._

It had to be the birch then-

"Fine. You win Gilbert. But I don't wish to go back to him…not yet anyway." He descended ever so slowly from the tree, careful not to ruffle his clothing. As expected of Fritz. Three seconds earlier than I had expected too...perhaps my senses were beginning to dull with the lack of action.

"Yes, yes, of course. But please do stop startling the servants and I like that. You know how it is every time you run away." That wasn't completely true. Most of us had already gotten used to his antics. I was just lucky enough to have been assigned the task of dealing with them. "Let us get back to castle at least, ja? I promise I'll help you calm the King."

"Just a little longer…please Gil?"

"Nein. You've caused enough trouble for one day, and I know if I let you go now you'll just run off again. You're the crown prince, Fritz. You should act like it. You know a year before you were born, I was travelling through the east during the war to assess…"

"Yes, yes, I KNOW that already. Assess the damage done by the Russians and Swedes right? And all the peasants were dead or dying from some plague, and we have it so much better than them, right? I know already Gil. I do feel remorse for them Gil. But it has nothing to do with father being such an arse."

"Never call you father that…well, at least now I know you listen to me."

"You tell me that exact same story every time I run off. How do you expect me NOT to know it?"

"That's not my point…" I let out a sigh. Of all the traits he could have inherited from his father, he just had to have that same stubbornness which irritated me to no end through my many years of service. Why couldn't he just be more like the Great Elector? At least that way he'd be more focused on his studies, or at least have a healthy enough interest in the military to have a half decent conversation with his father. This boy was going to be, quite literally, the end of me.

"…Gil?"

"Ja?"

"Why does he hate me…?"

"Who?"

"Papa…"

"You know your father doesn't hate you, Fritz." I closed my eyes. The soft breeze felt good. Comforting. This was going to be a long day. I was going to need every source of comfort I could get.

"But he does. Otherwise, why would he keep doting on brother, even though I'm the crown prince? I mean…why can't Augustus just take my place? It would make it so much easier for everyone…"

Mein Gott. "Fritz, it's more complicated than-"

"Than what? Than teaching me, a tactless, physically inept prince, how to ride a horse? How to perform drills? How I will outflank the Swedes? I have no talent for these things! We aren't even at war!"

I knew he wasn't telling the truth. If I hadn't known him for as long as I did, I would've been fooled by the boy's acting. He was a genius; one could easily discern that through his cunning. Just...a genius for all the reasons his father loathed. "You know your father is only doing this to prepare you in case of the war escalating. You never know...it's been going on for years, and your father has been busy discussing matters with the Tsar...it's only a matter of time before-"

"Before what? An invasion? Nobody cares about Prussia, Gilbert! Even monsieur Duhan-"

"You know what your father says about using French when you have no need to, Fritz."

"-said so! We're safe from everyone else! In fact, I don't see why that cowardly father of mine hasn't invaded yet…I've already learnt how large our army is. We can probably defeat Saxony and Anhalt if he weren't such a-"

I couldn't take it anymore. I regret what I said next , because I love the prince. He was like a brother to me. I could feel my heart shattering. "That is enough, Frederick. You are an intelligent boy. Why can you not just use it in your studies? Your father would be so much happier. YOU would be so much happier. Think of Wilhelmina and your mother as well, Fritz. They are faced with the repercussions of your actions more often than I'd like to admit."

"And your father. He is not a coward. NEVER call him a coward. Prussia would not be around if it was not for him. I would not be around if it weren't for him. You, Fritz, would not be around. Do you know how much he has endured because of your grandfather, his own father? Frederick William is a man of the sword. Do you know how difficult it was for him to endure the pain of watching his own father allow the nation he would one day inherit grow weak, while he squandered what was left of the treasury on the most useless of investments? I could feel myself grow smaller with each passing day, but your father must have felt many times worse than I did. The reason he does this to you, the reason he raises you in this iron court…I can only imagine it is because he CARES for you."

"It is difficult being the King of Prussia. Our army, as powerful as it may one day be, can't defend itself against the Swedes in the north, or the Russians in the East, or the Austrians in the south, or the French in the west. Not at the same time. You are right. Nobody cares about us. About Prussia. About myself. We are the backwater of the empire. That is why, as ironic as it may seem to you, we are so susceptible to everyone else. But the King is tirelessly protecting what is left of his kingdom after his father took the reins from the Great Elector, and that in itself deserves recognition. So please, my prince, grow up and stop being such a selfish, insensitive child."

The eyes with which he looked back at me; they were filled with a deep melancholy, so sad, yet so mysterious at the same time. Physically indescribable. But it was not the same hollow orbs one had when they reflected, in old age, upon life. Not the look of a battle worn country, or a King on his deathbed. No, they were the eyes of a child. A child who had faced too many a hardship in the short life from which he had been force fed a plethora of ill experiences, yet still clung on if not for an undying determination to follow the path fate had chosen. What I said was true. That was the sad truth. My sad truth. But I had just thrown it upon a child, one no more than eleven. It was not his truth. Not now. I had forgotten that despite his calm exterior, Frederick was still but a child. He was better read than all the servants within the castle put together, I daresay better read than myself, and yet he was forced to learn the etiquette in the dance that was war. He had already learnt all the drills soldiers had to do by heart, learnt all there was to know about the geographical features on a battlefield by heart, learnt the advantages one army had over the next by heart, but the one thing that the boy did not have was a heart mature enough to comprehend the extent of my own words. And yet he still held back his tears. "I'm sorry-"And as usual, the boy would cut me off, a nation many, many times his age.

He turned swiftly, so as not to allow me a glimpse into his broken persona. "Please don't apologize Gilbert…I have my own pride to retain. Can we go back now? I must apologize to Wilhelmina and father." His voice was steady, yet it was also strained from the effort needed to maintain the brave front.

"…yes. Yes, of course we may, my prince."

The reason I chose to humor him? To allow him his distance by not coddling him like a crying infant? Because he had his pride to retain.

The boy would become not just a fine man, but a fine king. I could tell, from the centuries of masters I had followed. Perhaps not a warrior like his father and great grandfather, or a common coward like his grandfather, but perhaps a philosopher king like those legendary figures described by Plato. A King of men. A King of peasants. That was what I hoped. It was going to be a long path, even for someone such as I, who viewed each day as but a fleeting second in the endless nightmare that was nationhood. But I knew, one day, I would be able to return to my true self with my original strength and fervor because of this boy; for now, however, I will remain subservient, dormant, for the sake of my King, and his son Frederick.


	2. Chapter 2

Once again, all the Hetalian personifications are Himapapas, and I apologize for the inevitable OOCness I'm trying to emphasize :'D

* * *

Cannon fire.

That was what I heard each day as I awoke. My eyes were tired, but I forced them open. Who knows what that madman of a father would do to me if he, somehow, found out about the lethargic nature of my eyes? The sun hadn't even risen above the horizon, my mind still unclear as to what time it was, but I was already seething with anger for him. A shadow passed as the blinds were drawn.

"Now, now my prince. You know what your father says about dawdling in bed."

"I know what my father says about dawdling with anything…" The grogginess leftover from the previous night's sleep seemed to have left me quite irritably impaired in my speech. The words came out a little too spiteful, as justified as it was. I mean, the idiot _did_ outlaw standing idle on the streets.

"Oh my. Somebody doesn't seem very happy today. Another dream?" I hated how he could read me so well. Of course, I wouldn't let him know that, so I put up my most convincing smile.

"I'm not a child anymore, Gil. I don't have nightmares like Augustus does. Why don't you go check on him instead? I promise I'll get changed myself and say my prayers." Once he was out, I'd be able to practice the flute without worrying about my-

"You know the King wants me here. After all, _you_ are the crown prince, Fritz. Not your brother." It was always the King this, the King that.

"Why not Augustus? What about Wilhelmina? Even the Holy Roman Emperor is choosing one of his daughters to be his successor, and my father is always trying to get on his good side."

"The Emperor may produce a male heir in the future, Fritz. I'm certain he has not yet given up. Your grandfather was worried about not having a grandson, and look how you still came along. It's only a matter of time, my prince. Anyhow, you need not worry about other families. Just concentrate on your studies for now, and we will worry about who succeeds the King later."

"And what if he doesn't have a son before he dies? Won't Maria Theresa become the empress anyway? Can't we just do the same with Wilhelmina? Oh Gil, she'd make the best Queen! Everyone would love her and-"

"Even _if_ she succeeded him, not that the situation would occur, she would still get married, and I'm quite sure her husband would become the Emperor."

I got up from the bed to allow him easier access to the mechanisms which held together my nightclothes. is mouth was shaped by an arrogant smirk, and the crimson eyes which had haunted me since my childhood seemed to sparkle, quite pretentiously, over his hypothetical victory. Think, Frederick, think. There had to be some sort of argument that would get me out of being-

"There is no argument, my prince, that will get you out of your eventual succession into the throne. No argument that will convince me of your ineptness, because I know that you would be a prodigy underneath this façade if you were not so lazy."

"Did I say that out loud?", I enquired, feeling the heat creep to my cheeks. How embarrassing that would be.

"No Fritz. But I have known you since you were but an infant. It's expected I'd be able to read you." He had been getting much more perceptive these past few months. He'd found me quite easily each time father had chased me away, as if he could predict where I would be next. As much as I do enjoy Gilbert's company, it was beginning to hinder the efforts I make of causing my father enough trouble to get me out of my predicament as crown prince.

The smirk reappeared, as if he had, once again, known what I was thinking. He finished tying the lace on my other shoe. "I'm going to go say my prayers now Gil. Can you leave while I do so?"

"Yes, of course. Just remember you can't just ask God to change the fate which awaits you." I knew it was a joke. I did. I'm not stupid. But I wondered…why was it me that got chosen, of all people? Why was I born to Frederick William I of all people, tyrannical as a King and even more so as a father? My mother hardly ever gave me the comfort I needed either, as much as I loved her and her me. Why could Augustus have not come earlier?

I knelt down, my elbows resting on the covers of my bed. I closed my eyes.

What kind of twisted God did such a thing? I was not meant to be a King. I was not meant for Prussia. I am doing everyone, Wilhelmina, mother and even Gilbert, a great disservice by being the crown prince. Perhaps it'd be easier to just kill myself…

"Escaping this world is not a way out either, in case you are thinking that Frederick. It is a dangerous way of thinking." How had he known…?

I stayed silent. Who needed prayer anyway? I'd given up doing it years ago, discovering the meaninglessness of asking an entity which very well may not have existed for wishes which would probably never come to fruition, only locking myself in the room in what they saw as reverence to appease my father. If it weren't for that man, my life would be so much more different. I wouldn't have had to learn to ride horses. I wouldn't have had to waste my time studying religions, of all things, or out-dated tactics which I would probably never even survive to use. Why wouldn't he ever let me study anything I liked? Why German, and not Latin? It sounded sluggish in my ears, and the way in which one had to pile parenthesis upon parenthesis only to find the verb upon which the entire sentence depended was just plain annoying. Why the battles fought in the war in the north, and not the legendary battles fought by the Greeks and Romans? Why could I not have something as simple as gloves, when it is so damned cold so often in these parts of Prussia?

It was about time they'd expect me to finish my prayers. I opened the door. "Your father has sent the food. It's the same as yesterday. After you've finished eating, do send for me to get Herr Duhan."

"_Monsieur_ Duhan." He ignored me.

"It will be the usual after that. Just report to your father, have supper and sleep. Be glad he isn't punishing you even more, Fritz."

I looked down at the unappetizing cut of meat in front of me. I was getting so tired of roast.

"I'm a prince Gil. Can't I eat anything else?"

"Your father is doing what's best for you. This way, you won't end up spoilt like your grandfather and hopefully you'll learn to appreciate the wealth your father has so painstakingly accumulated for you."

"What wealth? He spends every thaler on the army…" I prodded the food with my fork. May as well eat. It seems Gil wasn't going to be on my side today, so I may as well just get to Monsieur Duhan as quick as I could.

"And rightfully so. We already talked about this yesterday, Fritz." I flinched. The talk yesterday was quite disgraceful, but I wasn't about to admit defeat in the face of this man.

"Well, since he spends so much on raising his men, I guess it proves my point about his not caring about us".

I was met with a long silence.

Finally. Victory was mine.

A smile crept on my face. It was a rare moment, at least for me. Winning against Gil wasn't exactly an easy feat. I looked up- wait…what was with the look with which he met my face? His eyes, glimmering only in the morning, were downcast. Had I disappointed him so much as to have created such an expression? No, that couldn't be it. Gil wouldn't let something so small get to him…or would he? Perhaps I should apologize- "I will go get Duhan now." He turned and left.

Even his words were heavy with disappointment. Why did I sympathize with him anyway? He was but a mere servant…yes, he was much older than the others, and he had watched grow God knows how many of my ancestors, but I had no need to feel guilt toward the awkward atmosphere created through my words. The door closed behind him.

It would, however, be much easier to just apologize later. It wasn't because I was sorry. It was because I needed him for my plan to lose the crown. Yes, yes, that was it. I didn't feel anything for the man. I finished the last of the meat and headed outside. I shall have to remember to apologize later.


	3. Chapter 3

Himapapa owns all the personifications and their personalities as shown in Hetalia. This particular chapter, I'm not that happy about. It was a little rushed, so I'll have to apologize in advance for any grammatical mistakes, as well as the way in which I antagonized Frederick William I. From what I remember, he wasn't ACTUALLY adulterous, and had very, very tight morals. So tight that he'd allegedly smack people on the street with his cane for being idle. HOWEVER, the time Fritz spent in Dresden during 1928 was still pretty controversial, since this was also where he gained his first mistress (perhaps his only one) which kinda disproves the theory of him being completely gay for the person who will appear next chapter /wink wink nudge nudge

* * *

Why was I _here _of all places?

Where were the King and the Prince? I shouldn't be indulging in court life here; I should be back in Prussia, drilling and exercising and _not _hiding in the shadows in case of a particular somebo-

"What are YOU doing in Dresden?" I could recognize that voice anywhere. Anybody would recognise it. A surprised voice; a voice which would soon jeer. I could feel it. In a tone so arrogant it would, quite possibly, break me and the patience which I had been building since my days with the Brotherhoo-

"Why, if it isn't Gilbert Beilschmidt." I didn't even have to look to sense the cat like grin which graced his face. "Who would think that you, oh awe-spiring one, would be here today? Where are your lackeys anyway? Oh wait, you don't _have_ any." As craven as it was to run, that was exactly what I wanted to do. I wonder how subtle I could be if I gradually sunk into the shadows…perhaps the idiot wouldn't even notic- "Answer me Beilshcmidt. What's it like with that stupid King of yours? And his equally stupid son I keep hearing about? They're nothing but a footrest for the emperor, you realize." I could feel the stares of the people around us. Calm yourself Gilbert. You're a civilized soldier now. It's only a matter of time before you're strong enough to attack-

"Maybe we should re-enact Grunwald, _Łukasiewicz_? After all, I was winning until the Lithuanian coward came back, no?" Why did my mouth always have to run like that? The King wasn't going to be pleased if he caught wind of this. Well, at least the bastard was silent no-

"…you. You insolent little…fight. Fight me, if you are still oh so _awesome_, Beilschmidt. Or are you _afraid_?" Why did he not remain silent? He wasn't so good with words the last time we spoke. The malice behind them was almost enough to make me reconsider. This was bad. Why Gilbert, _why_? I wasn't ready to go to war…not yet, anyway. I looked around. Somebody, save me. Where was the King anyway?

"Too _scared_ to say anything? I guess no _Prussian_ will ever be as strong as someone like our King." I could see him sneak a sideways glance at the man. If he weren't so flamboyant all the time, I would've assumed he was committing sodomy with King Augustus. "After all, you haven't declared war in how long? Has it been a century-"

"Shut your mouth, _Polski_." Some gasped. Some laughed. Others stood fixated to our conversation. A fight between two countries? How dramatic! Oh, how I loathed court dramas…"My army is many times stronger than yours. I can fight you off any-" He was lucky- no, I was lucky my fist hadn't already met his face.

"_Your_ army? Stronger than _ours_? Do you REALLY expect me to believe that? I know they're all just rumours. My King went to inspect them the other day, don't you remember? They're organised and pretty and all, but they don't seem to actually _know_ how to fight. I can't really _blame_ them, seeing as how little you've done since Frederick William sat his fat arse on the throne. Perhaps they've all _forgotten _how to fight? And don't even get me started on his group of giant misfi-"

"One more word _Feliks __Łukasiewicz_. One more word, and I will pay you back tenfold for Tannenbur-"

If he hadn't intervened at that exact moment, I do not know what would have happened. Perhaps I _would_ have had to go to war with Saxony, Lithuania, Polandand their allies all over again. But of course, I could trust the Prince to come save me in moments such as the one confronting me now. After all, he _was _the couth, Prussian prince, who had on so many occasions impressed myself and, to a much lesser extent, the heavily biased and intoxicated court of the King with his wit, his manipulative, cunning personali-

"Gilbert! Prepare the horses. I shall be retiring tonight." He gestured towards a young lady, no more than 20, "Make sure you prepare a carriage as well." Completely smitten. The idiot was _completely smitten. _

I reduced my voice to a low whisper, audible only to those nearest us. "I apologize for what I said before. I shall be taking my leave now, _Łukasiewicz." _Making sure to bow, I scurried after the Prince, who seemed, for once, moderately invested in a human being other than himself or his sister. I could feel the Pole's glare follow me. It was, objectively, a defeat on my behalf. But morally, I had won. I had had the last say, even if it _was _an apology. I was the peaceful, mature one. He, on the other hand, was a rabid dog.

"I'll wait here Gil. You go fetch the carriage." As I walked into the evening breeze, I noticed his arm, quite imperceptibly, snake around the woman. I couldn't help but smirk. So he was finally approaching that age. The lady was far more voluptuous than I'd expected…why did she seem so familiar? Where had I seen her before? Perhaps her eyes, or nose, or movements bore likeness to somebody else I'd courted through the long existence I'd endured up until now. How long had it been since I'd last visited Hungary anyway? Why was I thinking about _her_ of all people?

Turning the corner rather hurriedly, I almost collided with the King in my absentmindedness. The King, and another woman.

"Ah, Beilschmidt. I was just looking for you. Make sure you get Frederick to his quarters on time to say his prayers, yes? I will be rather…_busy _tonight." Like father, like son.

"Yes, of course your highness." I eyed the rather promiscuous woman leaning against him with a look that I deemed as one of great derision. Perhaps if I glared hard enough, even in the shadows, I'd be able to prevent the King from committing adulterous acts for a single night at least. A different woman for each different day of the week…why did we have to come to Saxony of all places? Had he not threatened Augustus but a few days ago on the topic of showing the body of a naked woman to his son?

"I trust you not to tell the Queen of our happenings this week, yes?"

"Yes, of course. Have a good sleep, to the both of you." I felt sick inside. The Queen was such a lovely, strong woman, and yet the King still found no satisfaction in her or the rest of the family. "I will be sending Frederick off for the night if you feel the need for my assistance at any time." I personally felt the need to get far, far away from the putrid excuse of a man that was my King. As much respect as I did have for him, there were still many aspects which I simply could not accept. Perhaps it was the strong religious bond I still held for the Brotherhood…

"Beilschmidt." What was it now? "I'm grateful for your taking care of my son…I know I've been hard on him since God knows when, but I need you to continue watching over him in my place. I do not want him to hate his own blood…I want him to respect me, as you and all others do." A pause. The silhouette of the woman next to him shifted uncomfortably "I best be off now. I bid you a good night's sleep."

"Yes, of course. Thank you your highness." Sentimental moments came few and far between for the Soldier King. However, as surprising as it was, somebody as old as I would not, no, could not feel the full weight of words such as those. Not when I'd been through so much already. I continued towards the stables, as the larger man and his escort continued towards their own quarters in the opposite direction. How would the young Prince react to this…? There was always a chance he'd find out in the ensuing days if I were to be careless, and even once we'd returned to militaristic Prussia, there would still be no guarantee Polish court gossip wouldn't make its way into the Queen's own private circle.

"What took so long, Gil?" The couple looked restless when I finally came back.

"I was speaking with your father."

"Oh. Did he have anything to say about me?"

"No, nothing."

Abnormally large, almost dog-like eyes were a source of condemnation ever since the young Prince was a child. The only characteristic I found close to that of a canine was the way in which the blue orbs pierced me, probing for denigration, danger, deception. It was as if I had had my powers stripped by wolves, brought down to the status of a mortal.

"…if you say so Gilbert." He turned his head toward the lady. "I apologize for the wait. Let us leave now, yes?" Even the manner in which he asked questions, the commanding tone which was so deep rooted within the King's persona, was the same.

As the two stepped into the carriage, I looked up. A boundless blackness delineated only by the scattered brilliant specks we knew as stars. As small as they were, even I, a nation, knew nothing of them, other than what I knew from books. These were the same stars as they were in Prussia, right? The same stars I had seen the day the Prince was born, perhaps? The same ones which had met my own birth half a millennium ago? Why then, if the dark night sky, the great phenomenon enveloping the entire world day after day, remained unchanged after so many years did someone as small and as insignificant as Fritz have to change? Wasn't it only yesterday that I was able to look into him with my own piercing eyes? To tell lie from truth, bitterness from sadness? What had time done to that young, innocent, trusting child? The horse stamped restlessly.

The carriage doors opened. The Prince stepped out. He offered his hand to the lady. The lady stepped out. "You may leave now." I turned to leave. "No, not you." I turned back. He gestured to the lady, the one whom he had only a while ago been intimate with. "Have a good night's sleep, yes? I have important matters to discuss with this man over here tonight." She nodded. She left. I eyed him cautiously. What was it that he wanted? "Gilbert, open the doors." I did so. He entered. I shut the doors behind us. "When do you plan on telling me what he said?"

"Whatever do you mean, my Pri-"

"If you don't plan on informing me, I won't ask any further. But Gil, I thought you trusted me." A smile, outwardly innocent, welcomed me to tell the truth.

"I do trust you Fritz." Silence. "Why did you send the poor girl home, by herself?"

He leaned forward. "Why do you not go and escort her yourself, Gilbert?" What a malicious beast, the Prince was. "She holds no significance to me." He blushed. "I can fuck her tomorrow if I wanted to." He looked away, perhaps from embarrassment.

Who was she anyway? "Who is she anyway, Fritz?" Why can I never stop myself from speaking?

"Anna Karolina-" This was bad.

"I urge you to stop seeing her, my Prince."

"…why? Is there something I don't know?"

"She isn't exactly…someone you can just 'fuck'. She has…relations with Augustus, from what I remember."

"Another one of his mistresses?"

"Not exactly, but-"

"Then who cares? Anyway, you were about to have such a grand argument with Poland if I hadn't come along to fetch you."

"I insist you become accustomed to calling him Feliks Łukasiewicz, Fritz. It would cause much trouble if the general populace caught air of our…situation. How did you know about our little squabble anyway? How long were you lurking near us, my Prince? How much did you hear?"

"Everything. Most people heard anyway. I'm a Prince, Gilbert. Princes don't lurk. The entire room could hear the two of you speak."

"…I'm sorry for the inconvenience I caused, Fritz."

"Why are you sorry? You caused quite the embarrassment for Herr Łukasiewicz. In fact, I expect King Augustus to be berating him at this very second."

"Oh. Well, at least accept my gratitude for helping with my escape from the idiot."

"Of course. You should've seen your face, Gil. You looked as if you were about to kill him…I just wish the Queen and Wilhelmina could've come. They'd have liked Dresden so much. "

And the old Prince was back. I couldn't help but soften my gaze.

Who could've known that, only a year later, his father would hold such a deep hatred towards him?


	4. Chapter 4

Personifications belong to Hima-papa as per usual.

This is more of a filler chapter, cos I just don't feel as if skipping to von Katte is a good idea, especially character development-wise. They all still seem really superficial to me, so bear with me for the next few chapters, which will all be..um..._historical interpretations._ So basically fillers which would be impossible because of Mr Beilschmidts existence, but would still make sense if he did exist, y'know? Historical liberties |D

* * *

"You asked to see me, papa?"

His eyes, his merciless, seemingly monochromatic pupils moved across the room. "This court…" Did it even count as a court, this uncivilised group of soldiers in this drab, barrack-like excuse of a palace? "…is dismissed." I almost found it laughable how indiscreet he was with his anger, even during those moments in which he tried to _limit _it. Did he not want to strike fear in the hearts of his people, to control them through their indomitable dread towards their King's presence? Or was he really so naïve as to still believe his image as a loving and, in turn, much loved monarch was still something attainable by one who strolled around Potsdam beating peasants into submission with his cane?

The soldiers filed out, the racket they had created following closely. Only an awkward silence remained, one which almost compelled me to speak to my _father _of all people, an atmosphere so uncomfortable it made me want to cower and hide. But I knew better. To turn and run with my tail between my legs, to break the most important rule which encapsulated the etiquette needed for an honourable battle, I hadn't the faintest necessity to abide by it. You could call me a poet, a flutist, a failed Prince, even a fucking _coward; _I would care nothing for it. Shower me, the disgraceful successor to the Hohenzollern throne, with these appropriately dishonourable names. I would condone it. But I would never run away from this man. Frederick William I. My father. The King. Grandson of the Great Elector. I have learnt, in the many years of what he considers my 'worthless existence', that it is merely a convenience to not run from him. To run would mean to be chased down. It is the same with hunting, the very sport which he condoned and I loathed. If you do not want to become prey, you take your chance and stand up to your predator, in a show of strength. Of course, I have no such strength with which to defend myself, but it is better than to be labelled with a negative moniker by your own blood, especially if you know of the often physical punishments which came with it. "Papa-"

"Do you know why I asked to see you today, Frederick?" How rude, to cut me off like that. I was a Prince after all. If he weren't the King, I'd have already locked the madman up in some dungeon for being the overly meticulous, violent tyrant he was.

My mouth instinctively opened to answer, only to shut itself again, also out of instinct. Why had he asked me here? I hadn't much time to think of an appropriate answer, to weigh which one would give me the least physical pain. Had I done something wrong again? Probably. What was it though? Had I forgotten to pray? Had I been seen when I was snuck food from mother's court? Had I been caught swimming with Wilhelmina again? Had he found out about my library, about the information which Duhan had compiled and taught to me? Admitting to that now would be too much of a risk. "No, I do not papa. Why _have_ you brought me here?" Perhaps I should give him a smile, just in case…

"How has Gilbert been?"

"He is a fine servant, your highne-"

"_Papa."_

"He is a fine servant, _papa."_

"He hasn't been restless lately, has he? I caught word of a little…_scuffle_ he had in Dresden. And he seems much less…_calm_ than he was when I first ascended. I do not want him to be…_unstable._ It may not reflect well on Prussia. A safe Prussia must be a stable Prussia. Stability is next to cleanliness, after all, which in itself is next to godliness. Do you not agree, Frederick?"

"Yes, of course papa."

"You love me, yes Fritz?"

"Yes, of course papa." I'd have already killed you if you hadn't been my father. Emotional attachments will be the end of me.

"You love your country, Prussia?"

"Yes, of course papa." There was also the problem that you are the King, and to kill you would only mean treason, and the death of myself at the hands of the very country I loved.

"You love your people?"

"Yes, of course papa." Was this a test? Was he building up to some conceited excuse to berate me, to reprimand me in front of his officers?

"You will follow my orders? You will do anything for your father, for your country and for your people? Would you be willing to do anything Fritz?"

"…of course, papa." Whatever was he scheming in that tiny head of his? What could he be thinking of, other than about his damned soldiers and new ways to make my life more miserable? Or was this to do with those things as well? I wouldn't be surprised…he doesn't have the capacity or intelligence to think of anything else.

He seemed to relax in his seat, but was soon on edge again. The room seemed to darken as he did so, the clouds moving in accordance to his movements. "Do not tell anybody what I am about to tell you. Do not even tell your mother. Not your brothers, or your sisters. _Especially _not Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"Yes, of course." How suspicious. So it wasn't a punishment? No, I couldn't let my guard down. He was dumb as a rock, but the malevolence which had shaped his persona and characterized my childhood was something which I could never underestimate.

He stood up. He wasn't the largest of men, certainly not in terms of his height, but neither was I. He was rather fearsome, from the image which had built up over the sixteen years I'd known him. He walked towards the doors, opening them. A breeze entered into the room, making the vast emptiness not only dark, but also ever so slightly cold. It was only early in the morning, but at that very moment it felt as if night had engulfed all of Potsdam already. His coat tails fluttered in the wind, and as he hunched his shoulders, leaning outside to check for bystanders who had not yet left, the image created very much resembled that of death, the one personified so often in the foreign books mother read to us as children. It only added to the seriousness of the situation, the solemnity of the silence.

He closed the doors. Rather lightly, I might add, as if not to wake anybody up. It was curious to watch my father, usually a burly and violent dictator, have his temperament reduced to that of a tentative mouse. As funny as it _does _seem in hindsight, it did not lighten the atmosphere of the room in that situation. What little light there was left immediately as the King marched back up to his throne, past myself. "Fritz…"

"Yes, papa?" I did not smile. There was no point. The room was too dark for my façade to work anyway.

"...about your friend Gilbert…"

"…yes, papa?"

"I explained to you his origin, the way he came to be, when you were a child, yes?"

"Yes papa."

"Tell me, what is he?"

"He is the immortal Prussia, born the Teutonic Order led by the same Hohenzollern blood running through my veins today, is he not papa?"

"Yes. Why do Kingdoms, like Prussia, have people, like Beilschmidt? What is their purpose?"

"I do not know." And I did not need to know, at least not before then. But at that moment, I felt as if I hadn't known Gilbert at all, the man who had watched me, like a brother, for the past sixteen years.

"And neither do I." What was the point of questioning me, then? "_However_, we do know he is Prussia. Therefore, if he is unstable, so too would Prussia be unstable."

Did he not repeat what he had said just moments before? "You want me to keep him from becoming unstable again? Keep him from fighting, like he did with Poland?" Now that I thought about it, he had been getting more and more unstable. I remember, growing up, he'd occasionally snap at me, perhaps for speaking badly of my father behind his back. That was only an occasional thing however. The Gilbert I had known had never truly become angry, not to the point of making impetuous, blind threats like declaring war. Especially not against a power like Poland.

"I was going to do that if the situation had worsened. I only heard about it a week ago, from one of my officers. But he hasn't done anything else in the past month, as he/ That is why I will assume that something will happen soon, but perhaps the meeting in Dresden was but the calm before the storm. Perhaps it is an omen. One predicting war in which Prussia may be directly involved. Perhaps I will die soon, but do not worry yourself, my son…" I wasn't worried in the slightest. Please, do go ahead and leave yourself to death. "…I have prepared for that situation. I am still in good health, of course, but who knows what will happen to Prussia and myself if we go to war? I have come to the conclusion that there is no point in trying to put a leash on Beilschmidt. Instead, we will prepare to create a stable Prussia _after_ the prediction has come true. I haven't told anybody about this yet, but you must take action soon, Frederick."

"Action, papa?"

"Find yourself a wife."

I couldn't say I was surprised. As the Crown Prince of an entire Kingdom, it's inevitable I'm expected to marry and bear legitimate offspring. But I didn't want that. Not yet. That would mean securing my place on the throne. Damn this bastard! He'd finally backed me into a corner, pitted me head to head against my greatest concern, my greatest fear. I wasn't ready to confront my destiny yet. "Papa, I'm too young to-"

"Nonsense. I married your mother only a few months after I'd turned eighteen years of age. You are already sixteen, my boy. No better time to prepare than now."

"…"

"Shall I take your silence as your acceptance? Well, if I were in your situation, I would be overjoyed-"

"…I am not you, father."

"…excuse me?"

"I am Frederick, the son of the King in Prussia Frederick William I the Soldier King."

"Yes, yes you are. And you _will _succeed-"

"I am Frederick, the _son_ of the Soldier King."

"Yes, but what is your point-"

"I am _not _the incarnation of the Soldier King."

"…of course. But you will follow my ways, will you-"

"And I have no obligation to _be_ the Soldier King, or _do_ as the Soldier King does."

"Enough of this nonsense, Frederick. I will let you leave unpunished if you stop this-"

"I am the son of the Soldier King. But I will _never_ become the Soldier King myself. I will be a damned flutist if I fucking want, father."

"…ENOUGH. GO BACK TO YOUR ROOM."

There was no point anymore. Why had I done that? "…yes, pa-"

"Do _not_ call me papa. I will have somebody relay to you message concerning your retribution."

Rarely did he ever use a tone so quiet, so menacing. Normally it would be a booming, enough to strike fear in even the bravest of soldiers; this voice, however, was enough to reduce those very brave soldiers to a sobbing heap. If I had not been abused so frequently throughout my short life, my brave façade would most definitely have crumbled. Isn't it ironic that my saving grace was the past which I so loathed, created by the man who was at that very moment the one who I was seeking shelter from?

I regretted nothing. It was only a matter of time before I'd snapped. There was only one question left now, anyhow.

What punishment will the King deem fit for his Prince? Another caning, perhaps?


End file.
